


CALAMITY JANEWAY

by vanhunks



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU <em>über</em> story of the Wild, Wild West. No one messes with Calamity Janeway when she rolls into town. A word of wisdom from Miss Kate: "Men! They're the varmints of the earth! Especially that varmint Chakotay Angry Warrior Fleetfoot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A totally irreverent tale and hilarious send-up of movies and other things! This little story that has just taken on a life of its own, is an AU Über story. Set somewhere around the 1870's of the Wild West, I've taken to spoof some westerns and other movies, novels, apologies all round to dramatists, composers and other real people whose names are mentioned here, plus movie musicals rolled into one. I've paid absolutely no attention to details, canon, or historical accuracy, and yes, I did once tell someone: "I'm an out of context sort of person". 
> 
> The idea came from a chance discussion with a colleague at work on that song Doris Day sings: "Once I had a secret love" in the movie musical "Calamity Jane"
> 
>  **über** : Taking the characters - Janeway and Chakotay - out of their normal [Trek] setting and placing them in another time and place. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm certain TPTB of Climb the Highest Mountain didn't think of this scenario. I just borrowed them from Provisions.

* * *

**AGENDA OF THE HIDDEN HAND**

"Drink!"

"'struth, Calams, I ain't gonna give." The man sat facing her at the small round table. His nose was running and his face was red and bloated. He raised the glass, spilled some gin, but managed to throw the rest down his throat. A loud burp followed. A cautious laugh went up here and there, stifled as the woman glared at them with fiery blue-grey eyes.

"Good. You're one brave man, Pipe. Now, pour!" 

She pointed to the bottle. An anonymous hand of an anonymous bystander poured quickly. The woman picked up the small glass, filled to the brim with gin. She looked at Pipe. Her lips curved into a smile, tugging up at the corner. One eyebrow lifted. Unidentified Pourer wondered how Calamity Janeway could be sober after fifteen drinks. She looked beautiful and alert. Not-Drunk, was what his Mama used to say. He looked quickly away from the woman before she gave him the skunk-eye. He didn't wanna be caught looking at a lady. Hell, she was the fastest dang gun in the West. Lady? What lady? She could draw a gun faster than a mad snake could spit. Anyway, he didn't want to be caught looking at what didn't want to be looked at. He'd heard about them varmints who got gunned down in the middle of the road right in front of the Sheriff's office, for just looking at her like she wanted looking at.

"You were meant for me" stopped in mid-air as Pianoman Paris suddenly stopped; his hands paused over the keys.

The unhappy opponent leered at her.

"You ain't gonna put _that_ away, Missus."

Unidentified Pourer wanted to warn the drinker. The lady didn't want no one calling her _missus_. Didn't he see the notches on the butts of her Colts?

"Watch me, punk."

She raised the glass and threw the gin down in a single gulp. The empty glass went down on the table top with a clank. She drew the back of her hand across her mouth in a deliberate, slow swipe, not breaking eye contact with the man opposite her. Pipe Gantry wished he'd never taken a bet with this one.

He was red, puffy. He couldn't take another drink. He wanted to pee. There was no doubt Pipe Gantry was drunk. Pipe Gantry was very drunk. The woman smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting. She got him exactly how she wanted him and then some.

"You were meant for me" started again on the honky tonk.

"Hey, Kid Paris, cut that, will you?" she said without breaking eye-contact with the man opposite her. The music stopped abruptly. Calamity's palm pressed flat on the table; the other hand was hidden from view. Unidentified Pourer knew the _Agenda of the Hidden Hand_.

Please, Pipe Gantry, he prayed silently, don't go messin' with the lady.

"Your turn."

Pipe Gantry's head lolled. The hand that reached for the glass freshly filled by Unidentified Pourer, trembled as Pipe touched it. He looked beaten. He looked like he wanted to give up before kissing the floor boards. She wanted to see him kiss the floor. He was going to give up, the punk, the yellow livered coward. It was always a thrill. The varmints who called themselves men thought they could drink her under the table. Why, they fell for that time after time. Calamity lived for the pleasure of seeing the look in their eyes just after they swallowed the last drink. Surprise, surrender, humiliation before they fell over backwards. It killed her every time... Served them right. She had a score to settle. Good to keep the embers of hate glowing so she wouldn't forget. Let them come and lay their bets. Pipe looked at her, ready to capitulate before hitting the ground.

Calamity rocked.

Why, Pipe Gantry was going to give up, the coward. She wasn't gonna let him. Let him say his piece. Just let him. She was ready for him. He wasn't gonna get away. She wanted to see him eat flea dust.

"I'll call it a day, Missus," said Pipe Gantry.

The hand that had been under the table for the last seven drinks, held the Colt she had drawn five drinks ago. The men gasped, some grinned when they heard the familiar sound as she cocked her gun. A turn and a click, all with one finger, they knew. Gantry was messin' with the missus. Everyone knew no one called her missus... Not to her face, anyways.

They knew where the gun was pointed under the table. Calamity Janeway purred. They knew the sound. Low and soft and kiss-your-mama-goodbye dangerous.

"You call it a day and I'll shoot your peepee off, punk. You'll be wanting to piss through your nose."

The glass seemed to float to Gantry's mouth and pour itself down his throat. For ten seconds he remained motionless as the lethal liquor hit. They mixed pure tequila and gin for the bet. Then Pipe Gantry choked and gasped. He clutched his throat. His eyes popped. The next moment, Pipe Gantry keeled backwards over the thin backed chair and thudded to the floor.

The onlookers chorused and some Stetsons flew in the air.

"Hooray!!!"

"Hey, Kid! Play somethin'," Calamity Janeway shouted over the heads of the cowboys. She rose and walked round the table. Her boot landed hard on Pipe's chest as she kicked him. He didn't move. The punk was snoring. She nodded to one of the Anonymous Cowpokes.

"He's sloshed. Better get him outside," she ordered. "Wash him in the trough. Smells of varmint piss."

"Yes, ma'am! Aye, ma'am!" four men chorused as they manhandled the hapless Pipe Gantry and pitched him out of the Triple S Saloon.

"That's gotten rid of him," she declared. Only then she tipped her Stetson so it hanged against her back. Calamity shook her hair out. It fell about her shoulders in bronzed-golden tresses. She wore a leather waist coat, coarse trousers and boots with spurs. The men's eyes exploded. Calamity Janeway had a head of hair that all of Sandrine's Other Girls dreamed of having. Rich golden it was.  She had a look that said, "Hey, what you lookin' at? You like what you lookin' at?" That kind of look.

"Dang! I'd run me hands through them curls and smell them all day," a cowboy who wished to stay Anonymous for the rest of his life, said.

She swivelled round and glared at the man.

"Hey! No shit-smellin' varmint who bathes once a year, gonna touch this hair," she hissed. Her hands hovered dangerously close to the Colts in their holsters.

"No,  ma'am!" they chorused. No one messed with a gun totin' tiny terror like Calamity.

One cowboy who lounged at the bar counter touched the brim of his Stetson. He spoke in a rough voice. "We hear strange things here in Goose Creek, Calamity Janeway. We hear about the Indian what got you creamed good and solid."

Calamity Janeway swung round to face the speaker. With his Stetson pulled low over his head, she couldn't see his face, but that was okay, because...

She pulled her gun faster than her cousin Ellery McIntyre could say his name. She used to practice sharpshooting with him saying his name, and every time she beat him to it, running ten cans off the tree trunk by the time he came to 'tyre'.

The next moment, one Stetson flew high into the air and landed with a soft thud on Pianoman Paris's bowler that was already on his head.

He grinned broadly.

"Thanks, Calamity!"

"My pleasure, Paris."

She ambled slowly towards the offending speaker. She had no problem seeing his face. Boy, she thought. The man's face looked like an insect laid eggs all over it. No wonder he had his Stetson low over his pimples.

"I say, I might be wearing them men's trousers and boots and spurs and leather jackets, but I ain't never had a face like that. What'd you do? Piss off the Almighty?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. Calamity's hands were never far from the butts of her Colts. She was primed. Any move from him and he'd kiss his... No, better still.

"I could shoot every pimple off your face, Buster, but that be helping you with your particular plight. I bet them ladies  - " she looked up the stairs where several girls were leaning lazily against the balustrade - "wouldn't touch you with them pimples lining your face."

"That's right, Calamity Janeway," shouted Bella Torres with a fierce scowl on her face. "We've been trying to get rid of him - "

"You do that, Bella. You do that. Maybe Pianoman Paris can play you a song."

"That weasel? He's been playing 'You were meant for me' all day! Hey, Paris, your Mama teach you only one toon?"

Calamity Janeway laughed. She kicked Pock Face against the shin. "You be careful," she hissed, then turned away from him. She walked with daring arrogance towards one of the tables in the corner.

She counted. Six…five...four...three...two...

A heavy silence descended on the saloon. The men waited, held their breaths. The ladies' bosoms heaved in anticipated fear.

Pianoman Paris ducked and winced. He got pinched by his own armbands handed to him by his Pappy the Admiral. The rest of the patrons ducked. No one had seen Pock Face move, and no had had seen the split-second reaction from Calamity Janeway as she drew her gun with lightning speed, flipped it behind her without turning to look at Pock Face, and aimed for his face. The bullet grazed a pimple.

A gasp went up from the onlookers.

"See? Told you I'd shoot a pimple off your face. Now," she continued as she pulled up a chair while looking at the scary-faced youngster who sat there holding a metal mug too big for his hands. She grinned when she saw it. "Now, no one mentions that darned Indian again, you hear me?"

"I swear, Calamity Janeway, I said nothing," the young cowboy spluttered. He pressed his hat deeper over his head. Calamity wanted to laugh. The kid drowned in his hat. Maybe it belonged to his dead papa who lost his life in a duel.

"Say, Calamity, we know you don't like men. Them be varmints, right?" said Kid Papa's companion, just as young as the Kid, fresh-faced and untried. Why they tried out the world by sitting in the saloons and messin' around with her? The Companion was brash. It was time his fellow cowboys educated him and sent him packing to his Mama's ranch. .

She grabbed Kid Papa's giant metal mug.

"What you drinking? Ghost Pee?" she asked as smelled the cheap ale. Then she brought the mug down hard on the table and cheap wine splattered all over Kid Papa and his companion.

"Men... Hate the varmints!"

The men who stood at the tables watching their friends play poker, moved to make way for Calamity Janeway as she stalked out, pushed the saloon doors and left them to bang against the face of the cowboy who followed her out. There, on the sidewalk, she brushed down her pants, touched her Colts, touched the broad shiny buckle, then flipped her hat back on her head.

She looked to the side and shrugged. Pipe Gantry still lay drunk as a drunk monkey in the horses' trough. He wasn't gonna wake up any time soon. Good for him. She gave a low whistle, and the horse whinnied as she heard Calamity's call. She untied the rein from the wooden pole and in a swift, smooth movement mounted her horse.

"You be good now, Delta Lady," she whispered to her horse. Her spurs dug into its flanks and in the next instant horse and rider rode off into the sunset, down the dusty street of Goose Creek. The Sheriff looked at the vanishing horsewoman and shook his head.

When Calamity Janeway rode into town, there was always a man in the trough by the time she rode out.

Inside Sandrine's Select Saloon - the Triple S - the patrons breathed a sigh of relief. Even Pock Face was none the worse for wear as he wiped the blood where the pimple had been moments before. He had been stupid enough to try and outdraw Katie Janeway of Echo Creek, Montana. Pock Face leaned against the counter, tipped his hat over his eyes to look inscrutable and growled.

"You ain't messin' with that one again," Tuhbe Truman said. "I was thinkin' she should have treated more of them pimples, so that thee without a blemish be.. "

"You gonna gimme a gin, Tuhbe?" he asked, still trying to look inscrutable.

"Tuh be," Tuhbe said as he started to fill the glass, "or...not tuh be... That is the question. Here, let me fill your cup."

Pianoman Paris, the blue-eyed, blonde haired sharpshooter turned pianoman on account of his having lost his head when he shot his three friends accidentally, burst out laughing. He played "My baby don't care for me" and tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. Bella Torres smiled back and said,

"You in love with Calamity Janeway?"

"Bella Torres, I'll take my chances with you. That - that crazy virago, she needs someone else to tame her."

He launched into the next tune, titled "I hate men!"

"We hear the Indian tried, but he got busted by her!" Bella Torres laughed. She slapped one of the buxom girls good-naturedly on her buttocks.

"I heard that too! She got mighty pissed when she heard him profess his love for her and in the next moment he admitted he won her in a poker game."

"A game the Indian rigged, we hear."

"He should never have said it! What was he thinking?"

"She could have been tamed by now!"

Bella Torres couldn't stop laughing.

"He won her in a poker game! Can you believe that!"

"Don't ever let her hear you say that, Bella Torres," Pianoman Paris warned her as he started into 'Anything you can do I can do better'. "Don't ever let Calamity Janeway hear you say the Indian won her in a poker game..."

 

***  

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

**TO BE OR NOT TO BE, THAT IS THE QUESTION**

The saloon doors burst open and swung on their hinges; the first sound after that was the loud thud of a spurred boot as it landed on the dusty floorboard. The thud was followed by a second thud. There was sunlight, bright sunlight outside, but no one in the saloon could see it. The frame that filled the doorway blocked it out although Anonymous Cowboy could swear on his pappy's grave that the big man who stood feet astride, told the sun to go away.

A quiet descended in the Triple S, owned by owner/madam Sandrine. Her _grand-mère_ \- French - who was really a _grossmutter_ \- German -, but we should not say that above a whisper, came to the New World running after her beau who was really married man. But Sandrine's _grand-mère_ had no such scruples as honouring someone else's holy matrimony. As soon as she and her beau landed this side of Wyoming, in Goose Creek, Grand-mère Sandrine pulled the first padre from the stage coach that passed through Goose Creek and made him perform the nuptials in the old church. The local padre had long ago fled Goose Creek on account of defiling the banker's daughter. No one had seen the banker, his daughter or the old padre again. So the new padre joined Grand-mère and her beau in marriage. What did it matter that the padre was a fake with his back to front collar? It was enough for Grand-mère Sandrine. One day, not long after the wedding, Grand-mère was left alone again on account of her beau who was now her husband, leaving Goose Creek when another stage coach passed through and he saw a beautiful girl staring out the window. But that is another story.

Everyone looked at the dark figure silhouetted in the doorway of the saloon. No one spoke. The man wore a large black Stetson; they could just see the pitch black hair hanging long down his back. His eyes were black, and he wore a black shirt with black trousers, his legs sheathed in black leather boots with silver spurs. His hands were at his sides, barely an inch away from his holsters where the rosewood grips of his Smith&Wessons peeped just over the edge, since the clips were already loose, in case them hands moved too fast for the human eye to see the speed. In fact, before Anonymous Cowboy could breathe his pappy's name which was not long by any means - since E. Pennesitum Romania was the family name, but Anonymous Cowboy wished to remain anonymous anyway because of his shame, but that being another story - he might be breathing his last, who knows?

The stranger remained in the doorway, staring straight at the mirror above the shelf of wine bottles behind the bar. Tuhbe ducked, then slowly allowed his face to rise over the counter. Pock Face, now minus one pimple, remained semi-inscrutable as he kept the brim of his hat pulled low over his forehead, chewing on a little stick that he used only moments before to scratch his ear. He lounged against the counter, bracing one elbow, and crossed his feet with spurred boots, so that the stranger in the doorway could hear the clink of the metal, the scuffing of the boot against the board. Then the free hand went to the mouth, removed the match stick and flicked it away from him.

"You be looking for Calamity Janeway, pardner?" he asked.

The men at the tables sat still, some pausing their drinks mid-way between table top and mouth, others holding their hands close to their chests so no one could see their cards. One Anonymous Cowboy - not the one whose pappy was called E. Pennesitum Romania - was holding one of Sandrine's Other Girls ( they be the ones who lined the sheets of the upstairs rooms)  -  and his hand stopped right at her frilly garter after he slid same hand all the way from her ankle up her leg just to feel the silk stockings Sandrine imported all the way from France. Said she was a cousin of Emile Lafayette of unknown birth, though claiming he was related to the great Lafayette. Anyway, Cousin Emile was in the silk exporting business of dubious reputation. Sandrine's Other Girl, her flounce  skirt all over her customer, successfully hid the cowboy's crotch. A good thing it was too, since he was on the point of embarrassing himself and seeing Pock Face challenging the Stranger created enough of a diversion to down the ramrod Cowboy.

Now it must be said that the Triple S's pianoman had a gift for entries. When the stranger entered, he banged dramatically on the keyboard, the first notes of "It could have been me". Every time someone moved or spoke, he banged the honky tonk. Pianoman had given back the Stetson Calamity Janeway had shot from Pock Face's head to the owner. He wore his own black bowler hat. He favoured those hats, said he liked to make his old man the Admiral spittin' mad. Pianoman - or Kid Paris as some called him - wore braces and dirty pink long johns and armbands holding up the sleeves of a nice snowy white flounce shirt. That sort of completed the picture. Oh yes, he gripped a cigar between the teeth, to the left side of the mouth and grinned wickedly at the hapless Pock Face while banging on the honky tonk. The grin had become his trade mark, and Bella Torres, whom he loved and hated at the same time, gave him a hard time. But that was another story.

He too, paused when Pock Face spoke.

"I said, you be looking for Calamity Janeway, pardner?"

The Stranger moved. The floorboards creaked and the spurs clinked. Actions remained suspended. The Nameless Cowboy endured the next ramrod when Sandrine's Other Girl - the girl was extraordinarily blonde with very large bazooms and fleshy, pouty lips - wiggled her bottom over her man's crotch at the same time she flung her bare arms round his neck and gave a plaintive cry.

"What's it to you?" the voice boomed in the saloon.

Pianoman Paris wondered suddenly where Sandrine was, or for that matter Bella Torres, when he turned and looked at the owner of the voice. He knew that surely, with this Stranger amongst them, there'd be a killing today and the Sheriff would be having a lone inmate in his single cell jail at last. The inmate would surely not be the burly stranger who looked like he could haul a barrel of rum off the Admiral's vessel over his shoulder with ease.

"You be the man she's wants to kill?" Pock Face persisted.

"You be wanting to kiss the floor?" the man asked gruffly. Then he approached Tuhbe Truman at the bar and leaned over the counter. Pock Face lifted the brim of his hat with one finger, only a tad, so he could see his companion at the bar.

"Sir, what can I do for you?" asked Tuhbe Truman.

"Looking for Two Gun Calamity. Seen her some?"

"Who is looking?" asked Pock Face.

The stranger kicked at Pock Face's foot still crossed over the other foot. The next moment Pock Face didn't look inscrutable anymore as his hat flew off and his face grew red. He was also lying flat on his back on the floor where the Indian's heavy black boot held him down. Surely Pock Face could have drawn his gun right there, but it seemed to him that it would be a lost cause, seeing as the position he was lying in, didn't encourage such hasty actions. Besides, the Indian's hands never left his sides where everyone could see the fingers of those hands were constantly moving as if they been itching a long time to get them round the triggers and blast the next man's head off.

There was a stirring. Pipe Gantry, sobered up enough and holding his cards against his chest, roared with laughter. Kid Papa, who wore his pappy's Stetson as a sign of respect because his pappy died in a duel, took his hat and threw it up and it landed neatly back on his head. Seemed he wasn't so wet behind the ears after all. Maybe Sandrine's Other Girls taught him some secrets, who knew?

"Who asked you, punk?" the man's voice roared. He pushed the brim of his hat slightly back. Only now they could see his face. It looked to them like the man could fight them lions in Daniel's den one by one and tear their jaws apart. A nerve twitched in his jaw. They could see a tattoo painted over his left eyebrow.

"It's the Indian," Pipe Gantry's companion whispered.

"Might be. I ain't playing poker with that one. Look what happened before."

"He's thee one," said another saloon fly, his head lolling on his neck.

"Hey!"

"Aye, sir?" Tuhbe responded instantly.

"You be selling cider?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

"Cider? Uh... We have peach brandy - "

The man pulled Tuhbe right over the counter; the glasses shaved out of the way and landed on the floor, one right on Pock's Face. Pock Face wanted to bluster, but the Stranger kicked him in the side.

"Get up."

Pock Face groaned some, then slumped again. Then the Indian glared at Tuhbe.

"Is this a weasel I see before me?"

Tuhbe's Shakespearean heart lifted when he heard the Indian sounded like a kindred spirit. Tuhbe smiled broadly, forgetting momentarily the Indian asked for cider and called him a weasel. So his Shakespearean heart, recognising someone else of same heart apparently, warmed instantly to the Indian.

"Get thee to a nunnery."

"What, me?" The Indian have a snort. "You tell that to...her..." and the Indian - for now everyone could see plainly he was an Indian or, heaven forbid, The Indian - nodded in the direction of Sandrine's Other Girl plastered over Ramrod, and it was clear to everyone who looked at Ramrod and the Girl, that he was having problems again of explaining to his wife at the ranch why his trousers had a damp patch at the crotch.

"Hey, Annika! Get thee to a nunnery!" Tuhbe shouted at her. He turned to The Indian. "She's from Scan - Scanda - Scandal - whatever, and says her pappy, Magnus Hansen, is a pastor there," Tuhbe whispered conspiratorially to The Indian. Tuhbe even held his hand over his mouth as he whispered and gave the impression he was giving away delicious little tidbits about Annika Hansen to The Indian.

"Now, the cider - "

"She be lining your sheets for you - "

This time Tuhbe lay kissin' the floor boards, while Pock Face rose heavily to his feet, the spurs scoring patterns in the wood as he got up. The Indian bent down.

"Is this a dagger you see before you?" he asked Tuhbe, to which Tuhbe nodded his head so hard that Tracy Donahue, whose mother named him Tracy 'cause she liked the name and said at his christening in Dodge City where he was born, that the name will go down in history as a boy's name, stood up and held Tuhbe's head so it wouldn't fall off.

"Thank you, Tracy," Tuhbe said while he wondered where the dagger had sprung from since he had not seen one.

The Indian smiled. Tracy Donahue saw the dimples and prayed he was born a girl. Annika Hansen saw the dimples and instantly left Ramrod stranded with his rod rammed and walked lazily over to The Indian. She was big, blonde and beautiful. That was the opinion of Tracy Donahue and Kid Papa and Anonymous Cowboy who winked and drooled at her as she floated past them. Only Pipe Gantry ignored her; he kicked his partner on the shin and commanded "play, punk." To which the Punk hastily dropped his cards and Pipe Gantry, long time vanquished by Calamity Janeway in a drinking contest, leered viciously at his partner. "Your woman be sleeping in my bed tonight," as he declared his cards on the table.

"You new in these parts, sir...?" Annika Hansen purred, strutting before the Indian.

"You old in these parts...lady?"

There was no mistakin' what the Indian meant and Annika Hansen pouted as she tapped her foot.

"I'm good."

"You heard the barman."

"I heard nothin'"

"Seems to me like you need some education in human development. But I ain't givin' it to you..."

Laughter rose up, and Annika Hansen strode back and sulked on Ramrod's lap again. Being promised he'd give her some humanity in one of Sandrine's rooms made for love, she nodded tearfully and looked innocent.

Right at that moment, when Pianoman took up the keys again and launched friskily into "Ain't misbehavin'", Bella Torres stood at the top of the curved stairway of the saloon. She saw The Indian; her eyes lit up, her arms went up and she screamed loudly a whoop of joy, followed by -

"Chakotay!"

Then she ran down the steps.

"Watch out!" cried Kid Papa. Hands paused high over the keys of the honky tonk and Kid Paris sprang from his stool.

"Bella!"

Bella's long skirt caught in her shoe and at the tenth step from the bottom, Bella stumbled and pitched forward. She screamed one moment and the next, she was held safely in a pair of strong arms.

It was not Kid Papa who caught Bella Torres as she was catapulted over the head of a drunken cowboy who sat on the lowest stair. It was not Pianoman Paris who once shot three friends accidentally - so he always claimed, it was accidental - who hoped to catch Bella Torres and missed. Pipe Gantry was too busy crying victory at winning his partner's woman in poker.

At the bottom of the stairway The Indian, whom everyone now heard loud and clear was named Chakotay, stood smiling with great deep dimples as he held a surprised Bella Torres in his arms. He had long forgotten he ordered cider, and dismissed Pock Face and put Tuhbe back over the counter and had time to sheath his dagger no one knows where, before speeding to the stairway, pushing aside tables and chairs and seated cowboys on his way there.

"Bella Torres, what are you doing here?"

"Chakotay!" she gasped, her almost calamitous fall forgotten, "what are _you_ doing here?"

Chakotay put her down, and when someone nudged his arm, it was Pianoman Paris come to claim his woman.

"This one is mine, I believe."

"Who in the name of the Sky Spirits are you?"

"Leave him, Chakotay. He's a pig with a big mouth and small hands and small balls."

"Hey!"

"Good. I'll just kick the snot out of him quickly, then he can go - "

"Hey, wait!" Tom blustered and hastily made his way to his honky tonk where he launched in double quick time into "Over there! Over there!"

"So, Chakotay Fleetfoot, what brings you to Goose Creek?"

"I - uh..." Chakotay Angry Warrior Fleetfoot looked for the first time like he could blush, but he quickly ordered his fierce look that made Tuhbe duck behind the counter and Unidentified Pourer rush away to another table where he peeped over the shoulders of Anonymous Cowboy who was trying to beat his partner in a poker game, same way as Pipe Gantry did. Anonymous Cowboy figured he was safer away from Chakotay and decided his chances at winning a woman better.

"You gonna freeze up on me, Chakotay?"

"I am looking for Calamity Janeway - "

"Hey," Pock Face shouted at his audience, "what'd I tell you? The man came looking for that crazy bitch what shot off my pimple - "

The next moment, Pock Face's hat flew off his head and it was carried through the air with a dagger through its brim flying at great speed all the way to the double door of the saloon where it lodged in the left door, and the door swung first out, then loped back in again and then kept on swinging until it stopped.

"Hey, where'd my hat go? What I do?" Pock Face asked dumbly as he looked at Chakotay. "That's my new hat!"

"No one calls my woman a bitch," Chakotay said and he advanced on Pock Face. Tuhbe became small behind the counter; Pipe Gantry actually paused in mid-air with his cards; Kid Papa stalled in his tracks and Bella smiled like a cat; Tracy Donahue ran around taking bets. A darkness fell over Pock Face as The Indian loomed over him. All dressed in black, with long hair and dimples - the man was a fine specimen of Indian -  he stood ready to blast the Pock's head off. He had to smile more. Bella Torres always thought he smiled too little, but women wanted him in their beds, just like Annika Hansen made a fool of herself and got insulted for her troubles. Bella said years later to her husband Pianoman Paris, the Almighty sure as hell did love that Indian. Anyways, he loomed over Pock Face and everyone in the saloon, even Annika Hansen who glared balefully at losing a good client customer, held their breaths.

"Did you hear me?"

"Me? I never saw her in my life - "

"How come you missing a pimple?"

"I shaved - "

"Lying, sniveling punk. That be a signature of Calamity Janeway." Chakotay grabbed his shirt front, pulled him off his feet and hissed, "Go, get your hat." Then he dropped Pock Face. They could hear his untrained ankles creak from the effort of landing.

Pock Face started to shiver. Bella was stunned. She had just realised something calamitous.

"Chakotay, _you_ are the Indian who won Calamity Janeway in a poker game?"

Chakotay didn't look at Bella Torres. He kept his eyes on Pock Face who shuffled carefully to the door. Chakotay's hands were idling about half an inch away from his loosened holsters. Pock Face's hands were close to his holster. "Something's gotta give," was the new tune Kid Paris belted out on the keyboard.

"If you weren't my cousin, Bella Torres, I'd put you over my knee and whack that bottom of yours so you can't sit down for the next five hundred years. Then again, maybe because you're my cousin, I should tan your hide for being in this hell hole."

Bella didn't want to tell him that Calamity Janeway rode out of Goose Creek four weeks ago, swearing high heaven how she'd kill the varmint who didn't deserve being called a man. Everyone knew that she was mad at one particular individual and most of them wished that the one particular individual would make his appearance and shoot it out at high noon in Goose Creek under the watchful eye of the Sheriff so that all of them could go home and sleep peacefully.

"Then I won't tell you what I know - "

"That be good enough for me. That there weasel slinking to the door, he's gonna tell," Chakotay replied as he turned his attention away from Pock Face who reached the double swing doors of Sandrine's Triple S, inherited from her Grand-mère who was really a Grossmutter.

Then it happened, what everyone in the saloon except Pock Face knew. He was minus his hat which was pinned to the left door of Sandrine's, but he had drawn his gun. Chakotay had been looking at Bella when Pock Face drew his gun.

Three shots rang out. One came from Pock Face's gun.

The mirror above the shelf carrying the cider which Barman Tuhbe didn't know was there all the time - the label read "Apple Wine from the High Valley" - shattered and slid down the shelf and to the floor in their hundreds of pieces. A loud sigh went up from the patrons - drunks, more drunks, Pipe Gantry who was sober for once, Annika Hansen whose green eyes narrowed; Kid Papa who dreamed of sharp shooting just like that; Unidentified Pourer who let the gin run on the floor as he missed the glass the Cowboy was holding.

The other two shots were aimed at Pock Face and they hit their mark. One hit Pock's left hand as he tried to disengage his hat, and the other just shaved another pimple off his face.

"Now you can shoot his peepee off too," said Bella Torres.

Chakotay blew the smoke from his Smith&Wessons, then gave Bella a long look that dared her to defy him.

"So, you going to tell me which way Calamity Janeway was headin'?"

"So, you gonna tell me how come she hate you so much?"

 

****  

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

**MY BABY DON'T CARE FOR ME**

Bella Torres didn't think that Chakotay, cousin on her mother's side - she was part Indian, but let everyone know she was all Mexican, just in case she needed to blame some mixture in her blood for whatever particular ire overran her heart - would clamp his enormous fingers round her thin neck and squeeze the life out of her. She choked delicately first, moved her body so that Pianoman "Pig" Paris, otherwise known as Kid Paris could see, sympathise and rush to her aid and release her from the evil clutches of her own blood cousin.

It was not to be, as Kid Paris hovered near his honky tonk, tried to open his mouth and offer the outrage Bella Torres needed and instead, remained gaping like a fish. All the time, Chakotay's free hand had been hovering near his holster just in case Pock Face decided he still needed to make a statement through the voice of his pistol. Instead, that man gaped as he saw a gun pointing at him and in Double QuickTime, the hat was released. His hand through which a bullet bore a hole and then lodged in the wood of the right door of Sandrine's double doors, whipped away and the next second, he stumbled out the saloon like a drunk. He must have been drunk too, because all everyone could hear when Pock Face left the floor board of the porch was a loud splash. The horse trough being good enough to cool his temper, they did not see him again for a while.

So Bella closed her eyes and feigned a faint.

That got Chakotay's attention and a whole lot of patrons in the saloon. She sank to her knees, and the sudden shock of going limp caught Chakotay by surprise. He released her, didn't look penitent and declared that she should know better than to catch him with that trick. Bella rose to her feet, rubbed her neck and asked in a plaintive voice that didn't sit well on her, "I can't tell you more than these pigs here... 

"So?"

"She was headin' for Echo Creek."

Chakotay laughed. He laughed so loud and hit his hand on the counter while doing so, that the glasses shook as the counter vibrated.

"She'll be back."

"What?"

"You heard me. She'll be back. She will never escape me, Bella."

"But - but we heard you gone and won her in a poker game."

A gasp went up from Pipe Gantry, Anonymous Cowboy and Kid Papa whose hat fell off as his tried to scratch his scalp just above the ear. Pock Face was long gone, so nothing was heard from him. Kid Paris, duly settled back at his honky tonk, started playing something no one had ever heard. They had never heard most of his others songs, but this sounded like the musician must have had some problem with his stomach, or som'thin'.

"It's none of your business," Chakotay hissed and Bella jumped back before he could wring her neck again.

"But - but - "

"Nothin', you hear me?"

"Fine. I'll just let my imagination do all the work and I'll tell - "

"By the spirits, Bella! I should have throttled you when you came out of your mother's womb."

"Oh, you wouldn't do that, now, would you? You're my favourite cousin of all cousins."

"That be nearly the truth, but I'll take it."

"Thank you..."

Tuhbe was mopping up behind the counter. Sandrine would come in tonight and look at the mirror and tell Pock Face he'd spend a few days in jail and make the sheriff happy because the old goat would have company at least during the night, if Pock Face Minus 2 Pimples didn't pay up. Meanwhile, the mirror would be fixed. That way Chakotay, staring at the reflection, could see easily who pushed the double doors and know when a certain golden haired virago made her entrance. When the counter had been swabbed clean, everyone in the saloon had gone about their own business and Bella had gone and seated herself on a chair next to Kid Paris and Pipe Gantry laughed all the way to his companion's woman's house to claim his reward. Kid Papa just puked his Ghost Pee over the table at the far end of the room - he was only seventeen and green about the gills - when Chakotay walked to the doors of the saloon and retrieved his dagger, sheathing it who knows where..

He returned to lounge against the counter, slapping his palm on the surface and looking as if Tuhbe owed him something.

"I believe I ordered cider."

"Mr - uh...Fleetfoot - "

"Chakotay."

"Mr Chakotay, I do not know what you mean when you say cider."

"You like fruit, Tuhbe?"

"How'd you know my name?"

"Tuh be or not tuh be..."

Tuhbe smiled from ear to ear.

"I like fruit."

"Cider."

"It's apple wine!" yelled someone on the far side of the room.

Tuhbe, who once dreamed of being a Shakespearean actor and who loved to quote from his plays, shaped his mouth into an "O", and gave a deep nod of understanding that accompanied the "O". Then he turned to the shelf which by this time had been restocked by Tuhbe's side-kick, the Barman's Help. Tuhbe's eyes scanned the shelf and a few seconds later, along with a whoop of delight, he presented Chakotay with a bottle of "High Valley Apple Wine".

"I'll take the bottle," Chakotay Fleetfoot said and grabbing a glass from the counter, he made his way to a table close to the piano. He looked pointedly at Bella Torres, his cousin on his mother's side, then sat down at the table.

"You're staying in these parts, Chakotay?" Bella Torres asked him, but she remained fixed to her chair close to Pianoman Paris just in case Chakotay got it into his head again to wring her neck again.

"You let your mama know where you are?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"I don't talk to her no more. Besides, I like it here."

"That be so. Your mama wants you to come home."

"You're staying in these parts?" she asked again. This time she rocked when Chakotay banged the bottle down hard on the table. He had already gulped down one glass of cider  and was about to raise the glass again.

"I'll stay."

"Then you can watch me perform."

"That's what you do here? You don't..." he started, then looked to where Annika Hansen had changed her partner for a new one, edging ever closer to Chakotay's table. Maybe Annika thought that being near to the man in black, might improve her chances of an acquaintance with him. So she breathed heavily past her partner's ear. It looked gross, that's what Kid Papa would have said had he seen what Annika Hansen was trying to do, but as he was still busy cleaning up his puke, he missed the little charade. Annika was licking off her new beau's ear, like a cat with spikes on her tongue, but all the time she kept her eyes on the prize, which was the man in black, also known as Chakotay "Angry Warrior" Fleetfoot.

"What did you say, Chakotay?" Bella reminded him, since Chakotay was looking at Annika with amusement. This time Bella Torres moved forward, pulled Chakotay's Stetson off his head to get his attention. "What did you say?" she asked again. But maybe Bella Torres should have left Chakotay's Stetson on his head, because all that hair that was hidden under it and that everyone who knew Indians and who knew that their hair was always long and sleek and black with no lice - that be courtesy of the Traveling Medicine Man With no Hair who had advice on hair for everyone except for himself - fell about his shoulders.

Annika Hansen left her partner's ear and gasped out loud. Chakotay left his Stetson on the table, gulped down another glass of cider and looked straight at Bella Torres, cousin on his mother's side.

"You dance in this joint? You good?"

"I am," she said with a smile, and stood up, did a pirouette or two and flounced her skirts about her like a child showing off her new Christmas dress. "I am very good."

Annika Hansen pouted once more when Chakotay ignored her and continued to finish off the bottle. One look at Tuhbe Shakespeare Truman, and he sent his side-kick scurrying for another bottle to Chakotay's table. Bella Torres looked at her cousin and everyone could see how worried she was. She had a look that said Chakotay had better stop drinking, or he will soon land in the horse trough just ready and waiting for him. But what the others didn't know that Bella Torres knew about her cousin, but was not willing to admit, hence her worried look to divert the onlookers, was that Chakotay could take his drink. He never liked drinkin' much, but his body was very tolerant to toxins like alcohol. What did the others have to know what she was thinkin'. Chakotay sat there and started on his second bottle while the others got on with their business of flirting, touching where the hands go too public to mention in front of Kid Papa, and playing poker and winning other men's women. There were four brothers sitting in one corner, very quiet like, who peeped from under the brims of their hats, and then dropped their chins on their chests to sleep again after being disturbed when Pock Face shot the mirror and Chakotay shot Pock Face.

"Hey, Kid!" Chakotay shouted at Kid Paris.

"Yeah?"

"Play something."

  
"I am playing something," Kid Paris replied and suddenly everyone seemed to wake up and become attentive again.

Even Annika who was biting her partner's ear, stopped that particular occupation just to hear or see what was going to happen. It must be said that Annika never went to bed without securing a promise from any man she approached and by the next night he would be warming her bed, or she would be warming his bed.

While Bella Torres knew that deep down Chakotay, her cousin once removed but sometimes too close for comfort like when he used to tan her hide when she was little, was really hung over a woman, she could not imagine that he could be hung over a woman like Calamity Janeway. It seemed to her unlikely. Chakotay was most times gentle like, but she was not going to tell anyone that. The thing was just: If anyone could tame Calamity Janeway, her cousin Chakotay be the man to do the honours.

So Bella kept wondering what went wrong, and how Calamity Janeway got to be Calamity. That one could outspit a cobra and shoot its tongue off at fifteen paces. Bella didn't want to see what Calamity Janeway would do with her cousin Chakotay, since she's already seen what that wildcat could do with any man who came within one pace of her. Everyone had seen how she cleared Pock Face of one of his pimples; everyone knew she could have done more that day, but she wasn't going to help him  - Pock Face, that is - with his particular plight; she'd be doing him a favour. Well, it wasn't just that Calams shot off the man's pimple; she did so while her back was turned to him. And Chakotay "Angry Warrior" Fleetfoot, he of the fleet foot, had just done the same thing, only, he was looking at her, Bella Torres of Sandrine's Triple S Lounge, while doing Pock Face a favour. Now, Bella Torres, knowing what Calamity Janeway could do with her guns and knowing what her cousin Chakotay could do with his guns, was faced with a serious dilemma.

"Hey, play something!" Chakotay's voice thundered. Kid Paris rocked up in his chair and played a very fast tune which no one knew.

The dilemma of Bella Torres was this. In a war of the Fleetfoots and Janeways, she would be faced with taking sides. She could take her cousin on her mother's side's side, for the reason that he was a blood relation and she would not like to see him beaten in a war of whatever weapons they chose and betray him by taking someone else's - a woman at that - side. She could take Calamity Janeway's side because Calamity Janeway was a woman and women - if she didn't include Annika Hansen on account of the loose life she led - always stood up for one another against the varmints that dwelled in Goose Creek, Wyoming, and Echo Creek, Montana, and Dodge City and every other city, even Boston where she heard women could become doctors and scientists and writers. Yes, Bella Torres was a sister in the struggle with Calamity Janeway against them varmints who could never hold their liquor - except Chakotay - and keep their rods jammed inside their trousers and who were all pigs, if they asked her and Calamity. Look at Kid Paris. Maybe she could go to Echo Creek too and practice sharp shooting so she can shoot Kid Paris's peepee off. But then, that be an investment she'd not want to get rid of since Kid Paris was going to marry her, only he didn't know it yet. For now, he was a pig.

That was why Bella Torres sat on the edge of her chair and experienced the pain of divided loyalty. Her heart ached for only a moment, then she decided if the outcome was even, that be good enough for her, whatever method the Fleetfoots and Janeways chose to settle their differences.

She hoped they would talk.

"Hey, Kid."

"What!"

"Play 'My baby don't care for me'..."

 

*****


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

**I'M GONNA WASH THAT MAN RIGHT OUT OF MY HAIR**

The next day, just before the hour of twelve, Chakotay walked from the dusty hotel to Sandrine's Triple S lounge. He was dressed as the day before, but everyone could see - that is, those who were brave enough to stand on the porches of the bank, the provisions store that sold bullets and apples, the post office that doubled as an estate and land surveyor's office, Adele's Tea House, the jail and the Sheriff's house - that Bella Torres and her dancers had taken the night off to launder his clothes, as they refused to let Harry Kim's Laundry Room take on the tender of dealing with the finest trousers and shirt and waist coat this side of Wyoming. They took no chances with the Kims on that score.

Anyways, Chakotay walked to the Triple S, where Sandrine was for once on duty in her own establishment. Children were quickly dragged out of the way by worried mamas and jealous papas with fat bellies who scowled at the way the Indian's belt lazed around his waist - the man was all lean muscle and bone - and housed on top of that, his two holsters carrying two Smith&Wessons with 7½in barrels and rosewood grips. Chakotay's hat was tipped low over his brow. He walked slowly, long loping strides that meant he meant business. By last night everyone in Goose Creek knew he was the meanest sharpshooter in the west, and he had come looking for Calamity Janeway who often passed through Goose Creek hunting down varmint, and who stopped by Sandrine's Triple S to stir up trouble with the men.

By the time Chakotay stepped onto the porch of the Triple S, a small posse of children who had escaped the evil clutches of their mamas and their papas and who all dreamed of one day wearing just such a black Stetson and owning just such a pair of Smith&Wessons and looking just as mean - why, they had hardly known him a day and everyone wanted to look mean - were walking behind him and stopped just short of the porch and the horse trough.

"Scat! Vamoose!" cried the Sheriff who stood on the porch. Then he turned to Chakotay and tipped his hat. "Howdy, Mr Flatfoot - "

"Idiot..." muttered Chakotay under the brim of his Stetson and pushed the swing doors without looking at the Sheriff. The Sheriff laughed, but it sounded like a little boy sniveling to get on the big man's good side.

Inside the Triple S there were the same people sittin' and watchin' and drinkin' and smokin' them cigars. Pipe Gantry was there, Anonymous Cowboy whose pappy's name was E. Pennesitum Romania, Tracy Donahue and Kid Papa and Kid Paris as always at his honky tonk, with Annika Hansen busily rustling up some rods so Sandrine will get her money's worth, and Pock Face.

Something was gonna happen today and everyone could sense it. It would be unfair to state in fact that they sensed anything, since their senses were dimmed by liquor. It was really because  Chakotay himself, after the third bottle of "High Valley Apple Wine" said that the golden haired virago called herself Calamity Janeway - truth was, everyone else called her that, said she caused calamity just with her flamin' hair - would make her appearance today in Goose Creek.

So, Chakotay walked right past the cowboys who all sported guns in holsters but none of them - maybe Kid Paris could, but him always hiding his credentials, no one really knew his worth - could draw fast enough for Chakotay or Calamity Janeway or even, the great open skies forbid, Pock Face.

Chakotay looked at the clock perched right above the mirror behind the bar.

"It's almost the hour hath cometh," said Tuhbe Shakespeare Truman. "O", said Tuhbe again when he saw Chakotay remove his fob watch hanging on a silver chain from his pocket and checked the hour against the clock.

"Say, that there watch is mighty smart," Kid Papa said, thinking it was time he honoured his dead papa by wearing his dead papa's fob watch too.

"Hey, where'd you get that?"

"Stole it from the Captain of a British vessel anchored off Boston Harbour - "

"Why, you lying b - "

"Wanna challenge an Indian on that?" Chakotay asked and no one asked how he had drawn his pistol so fast and made the Questioner smell the barrel. Chakotay pressed the gun harder and the Unidentified Questioner started looking like a pig, see? And Bella Torres who had been watching from the Pianoman's stool, laughed out loud.

"I told them they were all pigs!"

"So, where did I get this watch?"

"There ain't no British vessel in Boston harbour. No one's seen a warship. No one," sputtered the unfortunate individual whose snot ran off on the barrel and Chakotay calmly leaned forward and wiped it clean on the man's shirt.

"That be good, punk. Ask yourself: do you wanna feel lucky today?"

"No! Yes...Mama!!!"

"Damn fool!"

For the next few minutes it was dead quiet in the saloon, and even Sandrine, who had never seen the Indian and preferred to admire him from a distance just in case her neck got wrung like Bella's, whispered, " _Merde_ , the man is beautiful...", then kept her mouth shut and watched Annika Hansen and Riley - whoever gave a fool man's name to a woman - sit on the laps of their clients and kept them straight. Sandrine's eyes though, kept stealing sideways where the Indian was standing at the counter, rolling his thumbs and waiting.

The clock ticked.

When the doors swung open, everyone swerved round to look who had entered, but it was only the Sheriff. The Sheriff coughed then exited quickly when he heard about twenty pistols cocked and aimed at his head.

That was when they heard it.

The sound of hooves from the far end of the road, down towards the centre of Goose Creek. Louder and louder the clippity-clop could be heard. Then they heard the horse whinny as it was brought to a halt. It halted in front of Sandrine's Triple S lounge. They knew that because they heard the Sheriff call out, "Howdy!" and even as their hearts beat faster and their lips dried out from the anticipation of the kill, the Sheriff did not add "Missus" to his "howdy!", although everyone knew it was a "missus" who rode into town.

The hearts of many continued to beat faster.

Annika Hansen ducked under a table swearing the next stage coach passing through, she'd get her to the nearest nunnery, whatever that was. Kid Papa held his breath for fifteen seconds before it whooshed out. Bella Torres grasped around and found Kid Paris's ready hand. Pipe Gantry took his bottle of gin and downed the contents so he could be already drunk by the time whoever - that being a "missus" - was on that horse, entered the Triple S. He would willingly lose being drunk under the table by a yellow haired virago whose hair smelled like apples and brandy combined, than face the barrels of two Colts and two Smith&Wessons. Unidentified Pourer who tried to warn everyone the last time the missus stopped by Sandrine's, that no one should call Calamity Janeway  'missus', and no one should look at her like she wanted lookin' at, missed the glass again, and Anonymous Cowboy - that is, son and heir of E Pennesitum Romania - stared in outrage as he watched his gin soak away in the dusty floor.

The doors burst open.

Calamity Janeway stood just inside the doors, planted her feet wide, held her hands close to her pistols. Everyone could see that, but  no one could see her hair. Everyone who dared to look, could see the skunky look in her eyes.

"As soon as she moves, I'm outta here," whispered Pock Face who was closest to the door and who prayed to high heaven she didn't see him.

Bella Torres said to Kid Paris, "Today is a good day to die..."

"Two dollars he'll take her in round three," said Kid Paris with a smirk.

"Make it ten, says she'll take him in two."

"You're on. I win... I've been wanting to smell your skin..."

"I win, I get to shoot your peepee off, pig..."

"Chakotay! You varmint. Come outside and let me kill you!"

Silence.

Chakotay remained as he was, and all the menfolk calling themselves cowboys wanted to shoot him for remaining as he was and not hold the name of "men" up high. Some who sat where they could see the Indian's profile told later how he rolled them thumbs like he was counting to ten - or fifty - maybe, because - this they would also tell later to whomever was going to listen to this new legend being born right here in Goose Creek, Wyoming - they could see the great thunder clouds gathering in the Indian's face.

"You listenin' to me, varmint!" it came from her again.

Chakotay still didn't turn round to look at her. Pipe Gantry wondered why in God's good heaven didn't the man just turn his behind and get it over and done with, because the next moment, a shot rang out.

Chakotay's hat flew off his head and landed on the bowler hat of Kid Pianoman Paris.

"Thanks, Calams!"

"My pleasure, Kid."

Chakotay Fleetfoot turned to Kid Paris and he held his dagger in a throwing action.

"You gonna give me my hat and count yourself lucky, Kid, or shall I collect it?"

Next moment, the hat was back on Chakotay's head. Only then Chakotay turned to look at Calamity Janeway. A nerve twitched in his jaw. Kid Papa didn't know what it meant; Annika Hansen couldn't  see the nerve twitching on account of her industry under the table. The only person who looked - he got to tell everyone the juicy tale later - saw her head positioned in the crotch of her client. They would also laugh at this young cowboy, green as he was - because he asked stupidly, "What was she doing with her mouth there?"

"You gonna come outside, punk?" Calamity Janeway.

"Out of my way, woman."

Tuhbe whispered to Bella Torres and Sandrine, "It is almost on the hour of twelve. Now is the winter of our discontent..."

They just shook their heads. The clock above the mirror showed ten minutes to the hour.

Outside, the sun was high, the ground was dry and death was nigh.

Calamity Janeway looked at Chakotay "Angry Warrior" Fleetfoot as she stepped all the way backwards till she stood in the middle of the dusty road. Chakotay followed, facing her till he too, stood opposite her in the dusty street. Then a procession of cowboys followed from the saloon, and they were followed by Sandrine's Other Girls and Bella Torres's dancers. Even Annika Hansen released her client's rod rammed in the depths of her mouth and she too, in a daze, joined the others in the glaring sun.

This is what they saw. Two individuals stood facing one another. They stood close, maybe about two paces. Their hands hovered just inches away from their holsters. They stood, legs planted apart in the dusty road. Their wide brimmed Stetsons shielded their faces from the sun, it being overhead so neither faced the glare and could claim later that the glare made them miss whatever they were aiming for.

"You got somethin' belongs to me, varmint."

"You belong to me, woman."

"I am not your possession, punk."

"I got you fair and square."

"Infidel!"

"Beautiful."

Calamity Janeway thought to pull her gun and shoot him right there. She had ridden all the way from Echo Creek, Montana to get what belonged to her. What belonged to her, was not this Indian who smiled and who had dimples no man should be proud of. He smiled!

"I was engaged to another man."

"He was a weasel."

"I'll grant you that. He lost to you, didn't he?"

"Marcus Jeremiah Johnson was a loser before he lost the poker game, Katie."

"You tricked him."

"To get you? I play good poker."

"Why else could you stoop so low, you dog!"

"You were in my blood. I had to get you."

"That way? I'm not merchandise."

Her hand crept to her pistol, same time as Chakotay's hand crept to his. Chakotay stared at his woman who had been in his blood since he saw her standing next to that weasel who was her fiancé. Fiancé! That Marcus Jeremiah Johnson was weak in the knees, with yellow blood like a coward and altogether too insipid for the likes of a fiery haired virago like Katie Janeway. What did she ever see in that weasel? But Chakotay kept his counsel on account of his promise he made to that same weasel, but he had something else that was proof the man was a weasel. He owned two ranches and pokered his way through both of them. What did Katie know? She could shoot ten cans in ten ticks of the third hand of his fob watch from a wooden picket fence; she could wipe all the pimples off Pock's face with her eyes closed; she sure was handy with a pair of Colts. But she knew nothing of what a coward weasel her Marcus Jeremiah Johnson was.

Chakotay didn't want to shake his head or make any kind of movement, else Katie Janeway would think nothing of shooting his balls off in the blink of an eye. So he stood, and only his lips moved, and his teeth were clenched.

"No, you are not merchandise. But we got wed before the padre, Katie, and I come to collect."

"You played poker! You made Marcus drunk!"

"He was drunk before he played, Katie. He - "

"Shut up, you lousy peashooting punk. Stand back!"

"Why, Katie? You're in my blood. I'm in yours, admit it."

"I'll kill you first before I do!"

"Fine. Twenty paces - "

"Thirty."

"Twenty five."

"Done."

"Turn round, Katie. This punk's gonna shoot your brains out."

"We'll see about that."

"Hey, Sheriff! Over here!"

The Sheriff ran to them and he made them stand back to back. Katie Janeway, alias Calamity Janeway, just about reached Chakotay's shoulder, but she did like the feel of his back against hers. Only, she was never going to let on that he affected her that way. She had to get the shame of being pokered for in a seedy, third grade Double X Bar in Tombstone out of her system. Now was her chance. She'd kill the rat and move on. It's all he deserved. But, heaven's bells! The man did feel good against her back.

Now, it must be said that just at that moment, when the two stood back to back, a wagon rolled into town and stopped near to where they were about to duel with pistols. On the box sat the Medicine Man who told everyone the last time he rode into town to sell his quack medicine, that his name was Robert Zimmerman. Now, Doctor Zimmerman, when he took off his hat, had a bald pate. Funny thing about the Doctor. When he kept on his hat and wore his black suit, he might have resembled a rabbi, but everyone knew he was the Medicine Man who only looked priestly. Doc Zimmerman smiled and what teased the people of Goose Creek thinking something was missing from his face, was that they realised he had no moustache, so his lips looked like they were part of his nose. When he smiled, no one knew whether he was going to sneeze or throw up.

Doctor Zimmerman got off the box, a bottle of elixir in each hand and shouted, "Roll up! Roll up! Good medicine to cure all ills. A lifetime guarantee!. It's the wonder cure of the century! Roll up! Roll up! Ro - "

He never finished the last "Roll up!" because two guns were pointed at each bottle and the next moment, two shots rang out and the bottles shattered and scattered and Zimmerman's Wonder Cure soaked into the dusty earth of Goose Creek.

"Back away, Doc, or I'll blow your balls off," Chakotay shouted. Calamity Janeway looked at the doctor and grinned.

"Better listen to him, Doc. He's mad as a spittin' cobra. Don't make him madder - "

"Thank you, Katie."

"You're welcome, punk."

"Sheriff, you ready?"

"Ready! Twenty five paces, then turn. Lord help you both..."

 

****

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**OH, HONEY, DID I HURT YOU?**

It was the Sheriff who counted out loud so everyone could hear. It was not as if they didn't do any counting in their heads, see? Only Tracy Donahue, who was named after a girl in Dodge City and whose mother said his name will go down in history as a boy's name, he counted on his fingers. So he was the only one who didn't really see how Chakotay's paces were bigger than Calamity's as they measured out their steps on account of Chakotay being much taller than the lady. No one smiled, as each person who watched, from the Sheriff who oversaw the proceedings, to Sandrine who oversaw her Other Girls, watched with their hearts in their mouths, and their mouths were open.

Only one person smiled. Mister Reaper, the Undertaker, stood in the doorway of the Dead House, and he kept looking at two coffins, one very big and one smaller; once or twice he had run inside  and stroked the coffins as if they were the last things he would see on Earth before he died. Lovingly he touched the pine boxes which he hammered and nailed together throughout the night, because it was said that undertakers never slept. Then he would run outside, rub his hands together and occasionally slap them against his side. His black greatcoat would protest from all the dust that had settled in it. He had never taken off his greatcoat, even when he went to bed, because he knew that if anyone was shot dead in a duel in the middle of the night, he'd have to be ready, hence the dust in the greatcoat. That had happened often enough, but not as often as when the circuit judge came to town and ordered the execution of them that were caught by bounty hunters.

Yes, Mister Reaper smiled, and if his Vulture called Wolfgang Amadeus that always sat on the eaves of the Dead House looked as if it too enjoyed the spectacle of Hangings and Death by Duels, it was because he was like his master: greedy to make his living off the dead.

Twenty...

Twenty one...

Bella Torres wanted to run inside the Triple S and duck under a table. She didn't want to see her cousin die and she didn't want to see Calamity Janeway die. She wanted to win her bet. Calamity had to live, on account of her being the example for the womenfolk of Goose Creek to rise up against their men.

Pipe Gantry, having enjoyed the fruits of his winnings and intending to beat his companion again after the Great Duel, stuck his thumbs under his braces and stretched them all the way past his fat belly. Good thing no one looked, because his trousers gave way and exposed his pink long johns that once belonged to his mother.

Twenty two...

Tracy Donahue missed a finger and cried "twenty three!" Kid Papa who stood next to him, hit him upside the head for counting wrong and confusing a few issues with his arithmetic.

Three more steps.

Doctor Zimmerman, who just lost two bottles of his best medicine, gawped at the spectacle. He figured he was about to corner the market after one of the duelists bit the dust. He figured he'd walk up to the dead man or woman and pour the elixir down the throat and command him - or her - to get up  and walk. Yes, he was thinking that. Never mind that he thought he was Someone Incarnate who could raise people from the dead. This doctor boasted some, and he was going to show the people of Goose Creek a miracle like they had never seen.

Yes, sir.

Twenty four... 

Twenty five.

Count done.

"Turn!"

Chakotay turned to face Calamity Janeway. He didn't really want to kill her on account she was his wife and she was in his blood. She looked like the sun came out of her hair. He could still feel the heat - it was no accident of sunshine that - of her back against his. It was enough that he almost wanted to embarrass himself right there in front of the people of Goose Creek.

Hands hovered above a pair of Smith&Wessons with rosewood grips and a pair of Colts with mahogany grips. Katie Janeway's eyes never left Chakotay's hands. She watched every move, even the way his chest rose and fell the way he breathed. Didn't the punk know anything? On the third rise of his chest, it was going to happen. She just knew it. She knew him from way back when he pokered for and he had been in her blood only he was never going to know that. Her fingers itched. She already flexed them during the count down, now they felt double-jointed like.

No movement.

Watch, Chakotay. Your lady's gonna shoot that smirk right off your face.

No movement.

Watch, Calamity. Watch.

No sound. Deadly silence hung in the air. Even Wolfgang the Vulture of the Dead House paused his breathing long enough for the Big Bang.

Bang! Bang!

Oh, my galloping galoshes!

Wolfgang Amadeus Vulture gave the loudest squawk as he flew up from the Dead House eaves.

Calamity Janeway felt a sharp sting, and then the pain hit her after the sting. Her wind was knocked from her and her head got woozy like. She dropped her guns, because her fingers got right royal limp, and she gripped her right upper arm. Calams looked; she looked, saw blood trickling through fingers; she felt that there was no bullet lodged there, and then was glad her arm was only grazed.

When the dizziness passed, Calamity thought that she couldn't have missed the punk. So why was she bleeding? Didn't she move first? Her finger curled round her Colt's trigger faster than Ellery McIntyre could blink. Of that she was real dead certain. She looked in the distance, fifty paces in the distance. Far it was, but not impossible to hit Chakotay.

Then she saw something as she picked up her guns and sheathed them with limp right arm and all.  Calams walked slowly towards the varmint who gave her so much grief in the last two years.

Chakotay stood upright, feet still planted apart, and his guns hanging by limp fingers. She knew him from way back and knew he would never let go of his guns. Chakotay took a step forward, quite drunken-like, as Bella Torres would later tell her grandchildren, and then Chakotay Angry Warrior Fleetfoot stood still. Calams held her breath. Chakotay, he took another two drunken steps, but he didn't release his Smith&Wessons. He could be lying half dead in the dust, but he would never let go of his guns.

Finally, Chakotay stood still after his upper body swung to and fro, but not losing his balance completely. He clutched at his side and when Calamity was about ten paces away from him, she could see how the blood dripped through his fingers and soiled his rosewoods butts. Chakotay looked at her, and she looked at him, and everybody else looked at them.

"You shot me," he croaked, and Calamity could swear he looked surprised.

"I'm very touched, you varmint."

Chakotay just stared, then his eyes glazed. He sank to his knees, and he still looked surprised. He pitched forward slowly and fell face down into the dusty road.

Only then The Choir of Onlookers rushed forward, and all sorts of cries came from them.

Pipe Gantry snorted in disgust because Chakotay didn't kill Calamity Janeway right away; now he would have to suffer being drunk under the table by her again. Bella Torres ran right out of the saloon, lifted her shirts when she jumped over the step of the porch and into the road, brushing aside Kid Paris who was still standing and gaping and looking like he was going to throw up. Tracy Donahue threw up.

Calamity Janeway pointed her gun with her good left hand at the Sheriff and said, "Back off, or I'll kill you." The Sheriff scurried out of the way. She knelt down at the body of Chakotay and shook him. He lay still. Then it was that the Medicine Man ran towards them with a double dose of Zimmerman's Wonder Cure.

"Make way! I can give him somethi - "

He was not allowed to finish his sentence since the good hand of Calamity that held the Colt, rammed the barrel of the Colt into Zimmerman's mouth. With the bad right hand, and with it aching like she was in the fires of hell, Calamity turned Chakotay's body over on his back. He was still breathing, but she knew that a bullet made its home deep in his side. Funny how he still didn't let go of his guns.

Calams looked at Zimmerman who looked stupid with the barrel of a pistol stuck in his mouth.

"Cut the crap. Get a knife and cut out the bullet."

The Medicine Man mumbled and mumbled, with his arms flying about and the bottles of Wonder Cure shining with its wonder cure liquid. Calamity Janeway turned back to her man, and touched his roughened cheek with her bad right hand.

"Oh, Chakotay, did I hurt you?" she asked the Warrior, but he wasn't talking anything because he was still moaning and groaning.

Medicine man continued to mumble and when Kid Papa pointed to his mouth, Calamity only then realised the barrel of her gun was still lodged there. When she pulled her gun out, Medicine man stammered, "Thank goodness! What must I do?"

"I said, get that there bullet out, punk."

"I - I don't do surgery. I - "

"Doc, this here man is dyin' some, by my gun. You be dead if you don't get a knife and get the bullet out. Don't worry about him feelin' anything. Hey! Someone, gimme gin!"

The gin appeared from nowhere, and Doc Zimmerman produced a sharp thin knife like it was magic.

"I'm a quack, not a surgeon," he mumbled as he cut Chakotay's fine black shirt and under the watchful eye of Calamity Janeway, cried "Eureka!" when he at last stood up with a bloody bullet between two bloody fingers. "I'm a surgeon! I'm a surgeon!" Zimmerman cried with heavenly joy.

"Now, your work is done, you can go on your way - "

But the interruptions were not over yet.

Sandrine, who found the voice of her Other Girl outrage at last, ran to the road, burst through the people and went for Calamity. She stood - Sandrine, that is - with her hands on her hips, her flounce skirts very flouncy, and huffed and puffed, spewing mud at Chakotay who was a prospective customer and who slighted her best Other Girl, Annika Hansen. She pointed an accusing finger at the unconscious Chakotay.

_"Sie haben das Duel verloren!"_

"Hey, Sandrine, wasn't your grandmammy from Paris, France?"

Sandrine recanted instantly, pointed again at the unconscious Chakotay.

_"Vous avez perdu le duel!"_

Which meant "You lost the duel!", according to Doc Zimmerman who once saw Lily Langtree sing in Paris, France.

Tuhbe "Shakespeare" Truman, not to be outdone by Sandrine, also took centre stage. Lifting his hand dramatically to the sky, and the other hand pointing to Chakotay, who still lay moanin' and groanin', Tuhbe opened his big mouth. His voice quivered with emotion.

"Here lies a noble Prince! Good night sweet Prince, might flight of ang - "

"Shurrup!"

"What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal snot  - "

But, be was not allowed to complete his ranting because someone else ran towards them and pushed everyone aside. It was the Grim Reaper and he wasn't smilin' no more.

"I shall kill the man! Where is he? Where is he?"

He looked down and there the man was lying. Mister Reaper the Undertaker had cried out as he ran all the way from the Dead House to where Chakotay lay on the ground where cowboys from Sandrine's Triple S still stood hangin' round, chiefly 'cause they wanted to hear what the Indian would say when he woke up and realised his wife shot him in the stomach. The dust billowing from his greatcoat and in his hand, hanging by its lifeless legs, Mister Reaper held his beloved Wolfgang Amadeus Vulture, who by all accounts was as dead as a doornail, by the hand of Chakotay Angry Warrior Fleetfoot.

That was when Calamity Janeway got really spittin' cobra mad. She had been bending over her man and caressing his creek and calling out, "Oh, honey, did I hurt you?" over and over. But when everyone in Goose Creek thought to immortalise them names in the historical evidence that there really was a Goose Creek, Wyoming, Calams rose to her feet and within seconds - her cousin Ellery McIntyre would have had to say his name real fast to see those bullets coming - she opened fire.  All the Stetsons of the menfolk who stood around the body of an almost dead man went flying off their heads. No one was really surprised that Doc Zimmerman was bald, or that Mister Reaper had ears the size of saucers.

"Get your Shakespeare shootin' butt over there, punk. And you!" Calams pointed to Mister Reaper with his very dead Wolfgang Amadeus Vulture. "You think your vulture got hit by accident? Think again. The man meant to graze me arm _and_ hit the bird. Now, scat! Scat!"

Yes, she was flamin' mad, her face almost as red as her hair. Her Stetson had fallen back over her back and everyone could see the flamin' hair and the flamin' temper.

One person still stood her ground against Calams. It was Annika who pressed her almighty bazooms in Calamity's face.

"You have what I want..."

"I'll give you what you need," said Calams, and with that Calams stuck the barrel of her Colt right in Annika's...well, that part is sure risky to recount because Annika Hansen never did live down the day she went up against Calamity Janeway.

"Hey, Kid!"

"Calams!"

"My horse! Let's get this varmint to his hotel..."

And so, Kid Paris who rushed his feet off to untie Delta Lady and bring her to Calamity Janeway and helped Calams get her man lying stomach down over the horse's back and walked with them to Chakotay's hotel and helped to put the almost dead Chakotay on the bed and further, ripped some white linen from the sheets on the bed and bandaged Chakotay's side. Kid Paris fell in love with Calamity Janeway and vowed he would always be hers whenever she needed his assistance. He ran back to Bella Torres that same day, took his bowler hat off on account he was going to make a very important announcement and went down on his knees.

"Bella Torres, will you marry me?"

"Oh, alright, Pig."

She forgot about the bet she won.

Outside the hotel Delta Lady and Chakotay's horse Grey Eagle, they were tied up side by side near the trough, snorted some and fell in love.

In his room Chakotay groaned, opened his eyes and stared straight in the face of Calamity Janeway.

"I aimed for the vulture," he said.

"I aimed for your peepee, but I figured, that be my investment for the future."

Chakotay smiled with the full force of his dimples, then his eyes widened as Calamity pointed a gun at him.

"Okay, punk, now where is my hundred year old microscope?"

"Later. Come here, woman," he ordered, holding out his arms to her. A good thing his belt with broad buckle and holsters and guns was removed. Calamity Janeway hovered some. She stepped closer, inhaled his smell, liked it and then took his hand. He pulled her down on the bed, no matter that he almost died by her own hand, caught his fingers in her golden tresses and said gruffly, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do..."

And Calamity Janeway came.

****

 Last part to follow.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

**LOOK! THERE'S A WHOLE WORLD OUT THERE TO DISCOVER**

**Later that evening...**

The sky turned dark blue. It was soon gonna be night. The window was open and a very little breeze caused the very lacy curtains to move. There was no gaslight in the room, only a candle burning on the night stand.

Calamity Janeway threw her arm over her man and smiled like she was really a cat. It figured. All the time during the afternoon that the Warrior showed her how much she was in his blood, he called, "Oh, Kat! Oh, Kat! My little kitten!"

Yes, Katie Janeway purred. She was no more angry at her varmint of a husband who pokered to get her before the altar. That story was explained to her just after Angry Warrior showed her a third time how much she got in his blood and she admitted how much he got under skin and in her hair and in her blood too.

"Your Marcus was a weasel, Katie."

"Chakotay," she purred and Chakotay almost wanted to show her again how she got in his blood and how he had to let his blood boil all over again on account of Katie melting into him, "Marcus is old news. I got you under my skin. Always have."

"That be mighty generous of you, Katie, seeing as how you chased me all over Wyoming and Montana just to get me out of your hair."

"It's different now."

"I noticed that, but I shall not tell our grandchildren."

"Why did Marcus poker me away, Chakotay?"

Chakotay rose on his elbow and looked into the eyes of his Kat.

"He was already married, Katie."

It looked like Calamity considered her options for a few minutes and decided being pokered for was better than being someone's polygamous side-lady. She believed Chakotay. The last few times she saw Marcus Jeremiah Johnson, she noticed his shifting eyes, but thought he was maybe sick with passion. He was sick all right. She turned cold for a second and Chakotay wanted to kiss away all her troubles again. Katie looked at him and knew that his hair that shone shiny black and his eyes that looked dark and brooding and his dimples that looked like deep grooves when he laughed and his tattoo that reminded him always of his people and mostly, his persistence in following her all over Montana and Wyoming and once down to Mexico and back and telling people that Calamity Janeway was his woman and would always be in his blood, was the reason she didn't kill him and forgave him for pokering for her. He was worth chasing, the varmint.

She thought it be a mighty fine tale to tell their great-grandchildren that their great-grandmammy was pokered for by their great-grandpappy.

Yes, sir. It sure beat telling them their grandpappy died like a dog in the war. A cowardly, lily-livered dog worse than the ugly coyotes of the plains. Chakotay Angry Warrior Fleetfoot was her man, and that he was gonna stay till they both expired from age. Only thing, she had no trouble living with Chakotay for the rest of her life, but she had trouble with "Fleetfoot". _Janeway_ sounded much better on the generations to come. Just a few more 'I can't get you out of my blood' wild rompings in bed, and then she'd drop her next bombshell.  She'd have Chakotay Angry Warrior Janeway eating out of her hand.

"I...see."

"He was a coward, Katie."

Katie, alias Calamity Janeway, who never lived far from her two precious Colts and later never too far from her microscope handed down three generations - understood. Marcus was a coward. Katie Janeway didn't mind anymore. Chakotay did it because she got in his blood and Marcus did it because she got out of his blood.

**Even later that evening...**

Sitting on the bed near the open window with its very lacy curtains, and with Chakotay relieved of the pain and the rammed roddiness only temporarily - he figured they had a whole night to get mightily properly acquainted - they stared out into the dark night that had descended on Goose Creek.

"Hey, that's a shooting star," said Calamity.

"The sky spirits once told you can make a wish."

"No matter. I got mine."

Chakotay, he turned to look at her. He wanted to eat her again right away, but she held him off. It must be said that it was only halfheartedly, but Chakotay understood. They had time. Calamity can talk all she wanted to, and he'd listen like a good husband should.

"So, we have our horses, I have my woman and a ranch that once belonged to Marcus Jeremiah Johnson - "

Calamity looked at him with consternation, then a slow smile spread across her features. It was quiet for ten minutes after that.

"So we have our horses, we pack our saddle bags. There's a whole world out there to discover, Chakotay..." Calamity purred and purred and knew the moment Chakotay was with her. He nodded, too taken in by her beauty and her feistiness and her crack-shot-ness and her spunk and totally lost himself in the depths of her blue-grey eyes.

They looked out at the sky a long time. A long time.

"Say, Chakotay, who knows, in five hundred years, our descendants will say 'Look, there's a whole universe out there. Let's go discover it'."

Chakotay couldn't stop looking at his Calams.  A slow smile crept across his features.

"See, Calamity Janeway? I told you we could make a fire without rubbing two sticks together."

 

********* 

**END.**

The author is sad to note that one animal was killed during the writing of this tale.

 

 


End file.
